Boom Town Take 2
by HumanTales
Summary: The events of Boom Town from the point of view of Jack Harkness, Torchwood Three.


**Author's Notes:** Set during the Doctor Who episode Boom Town, and references events in Torchwood Season Two.

**Boom Town Take 2**

Margaret Blaine as Cardiff's mayor. Jack sighed; he was going to have to be very careful for the next little bit. He hadn't paid careful attention to the date at the time, but he didn't think it would be for more than six months. Or so.

Raxacoricofallapatorius. He could still hear Rose's voice trying to get the whole tongue-twisting name out. Now, it was like a chant in his brain, sounding like youth, and laughter, and a hope of joy he'd long since lost.

He called his second-in-command into his office. "Suzie, I want you to liaison with the mayor's office. You know, answer their questions, reassure them, that whole thing. It's . . . best if I'm not involved. You understand." He gave her his best "Yes, I'm a bad boy" look and hoped she wouldn't press.

Suzie rolled her eyes. "Why her?" she asked, her lip curled in distaste. "I mean, ew!"

Chuckling, Jack just grinned. "Because _you_ keep saying no; why else? In fact, if possible, you should probably avoid mentioning my name at all."

"Sounds wonderful," Suzie grumbled, but took the file from him anyway.

One problem solved. Margaret Blaine hadn't recognized him and hadn't known his name. It was important that he didn't change that. Not that it would be a huge change, but who knew what changes could be important?

When he heard about the plans for the Blaidd Drwg Project, Jack felt his blood running cold. A nuclear power plant built right on the rift, a plant designed to blow up as soon as it reached capacity. His first response had been to rage at London for not seeming to care what happened here in South Wales. A flicker of memory hit, and he remembered Margaret going into the same rant, and then bewailing the fact that she'd become a Welshman, that she'd gone native. He wondered what she'd think of him now. Not just weeks and months, but years and decades in this city, so far, so different, from anything he'd found familiar. _Laugh, don't cry, _he told himself.

Then he settled down to the chore of convincing his team _not_ to investigate the project, its safety, how Blaine was able to get it approved, or why she was doing it. He knew the answers and knew it would never be built.

After telling Tosh for the seventh time that they were not investigating the Blaidd Drwg Project, that it was not a case of alien or rift intervention, and that she really needed to drop it, Owen pulled him aside after Suzie and Tosh had left for the night. "Why are you being such a prick about this?" Owen asked. "Usually, you'd be the one telling us to look into it. And you'd never jump down Tosh's throat because of legitimate concerns about that plant's safety. Especially not on top of the rift. What, did Blaine pay you off?"

Wishing he could just tell Owen, or someone, the truth, that the plant was dangerous, that the plant was designed to blow up, but that someone else would stop it, and he couldn't let them get involved because they hadn't been involved, Jack just looked at Owen, feeling very tired and very old. "I can't tell you," he said, hearing the exhaustion in his own voice, knowing that tears weren't far behind. "Believe me when I tell you that there is nothing to worry about."

Owen gave him a sharp look. "I'll believe you," he said, "if you'll break open that bottle of whiskey you keep in your office and tell me . . . something. Something that will convince me."

And wasn't that a tempting idea? Let down his guard and tell someone, tell anyone, even some of his secrets. Share the burden, just _be selfish,_ just for a bit. He could hear dozens of ghosts in his head laughing or sneering at the thought that he was actually being responsible, taking care of others, doing the right thing. Still, there was the timeline. There were the promises he'd made to himself, that he'd actually do it right this time.

On the other hand, he knew that Owen wouldn't let it drop easily. He'd have to keep it to one drink, come up with something that would get his medic off his back.

As he drew in a breath to invite Owen up, the other man put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Never mind, mate. We'll have this discussion again if they break ground, all right?"

Jack looked at Owen in shock. "Why?" Owen Harper never gave up, not if he thought he was right. Hell, that was why Jack had recruited him.

Owen gave a grimace that looked like it was supposed to be a smile. "I took an oath," he said calmly. "First, do no harm. Don't much feel like breaking it tonight. Or, to be honest, you. I hope I'm right in trusting you."

Jack nodded. "You are, I promise. Thanks." As he watched Owen leave, he found himself wishing that Owen hadn't let him off the hook. He took a deep breath and went back to his office.

When he picked up the paper with that photo, that story, of Margaret Blaine and the Blaidd Drwg Project, he knew that today was, finally, The Day. And, no matter how tempting it was, he had to stay in the Hub, where he couldn't possibly run into the others.

He spent the day on edge, trying to remember exactly what was happening on the TARDIS, with the Doctor, with Rose. He sat at his desk, wishing he could go out, run to the Doctor, beg him not to abandon him, not to leave him alone on a satellite filled with corpses. He wished he understood, could make sense of what had happened. He knew he'd screwed up with the Chula ambulance, but hadn't he been trying to make amends? Hadn't he been willing to die on Satellite Five? What the Doctor had given him to do was a suicide mission; they'd both known that. And, yet, he hadn't complained when the Doctor had sent Rose home, ensured her safety but not his own.

Wasn't that the story of his life, though? Try so hard to do the right thing and make such a mess of it that no forgiveness was possible. He could still feel Gray's hand in his, and see his mother's horrified, grief-stricken face. Join the Time Agency, train to be a soldier, to protect others, so other Grays would _live,_ damn it, and find himself with two years of missing memories and no idea what kind of a monster lived in that blank space. Travel with the Doctor, find a place, a _home,_ for the first time in so long; thinking he was actually wanted, at least a little bit. Take a suicide mission, knowing that's what it was, knowing that what he did wasn't even important in and of itself, just buying time for the Doctor to complete the Delta wave and destroy the Daleks. Then wake up alone, surrounded by Dalek dust and corpses; finding the completed but unused Delta Wave generator as the TARDIS disappeared before his eyes. And now, finally, stuck on a planet when he'd had the universe. Stuck in a backward time with customs and morals that felt so wrong, doing what was right, protecting others, and . . .

No more. The self-pity would drive him mad and he had work to do. And the most important job, right now, was to disable the CCTV where the TARDIS was in such a way that no one noticed, so that when things went mad, he could send his team somewhere else, and keep them out of the Doctor's way.

It's something of a relief when he feels the first trembles, knowing that the extrapolator was working to open the rift. He opens his wrist-strap and pretends to consult it, and then sends Suzie to City Hall, Owen to Cardiff A&E and Tosh to Cardiff Castle. "I'll stay here and coordinate." That got him surprised looks; he never stayed behind, was always in the thick of it. But he couldn't be this time.

Once they were gone, he reenables the CCTV where the TARDIS was. As he watches the lightning storm grow stronger, he remembers frantically disconnecting the extrapolator from the TARDIS, wondering what had gone wrong. He watches the Doctor and Margaret enter the TARDIS, and then Rose. He remembers the icy fear in his gut when Margaret took Rose hostage; his hope that the Doctor would have another way out even as he put the extrapolator where the Slitheen told him to. He remembers his fear that the extrapolator would destroy the planet, a planet that wasn't his at the time, although it is now; it was his past even then. He remembers his relief when the TARDIS took care of Margaret, eliminating the need to address the thorny issue of her execution. At the time, it had made him uncomfortable, even if he had believed it the right thing to do. Now, it wouldn't make him uncomfortable at all. But he'd been a soldier, and a killer, for a lot longer now.

Somehow, though, what he remembers most strongly is the light from the heart of the TARDIS. For just a moment, it felt as if he actually might find a home. As he watches the lightning storm die, he decides that it's safe enough now. The Doctor won't be paying attention to the city, just to getting Margaret back to her planet, and moving on. He erases the relevant section of CCTV first, and moves to where the TARDIS is dematerializing.

He watches it leave, listening to the sound that still haunts his nightmares, and stands there for some immeasurable length of time. He doesn't even realize he's crying until Tosh comes up to him. "Jack," she says, her voice quiet as always, her hand lightly resting on his arm, "Everything's fine up there. Are you all right?"

He pulls a smile from somewhere. "Yeah," he says, and finds he has to clear his throat. "Just some old, bad memories. Whatever it is seems to be over; do we have any information on what it was?"

Tosh shakes her head. "Not yet, but I have some programs that might shed some light on it. You're sure you're okay?"

The sheer rush of affection he feels for her in that moment is a bit startling. He rests his hand on her cheek and smiles into her eyes. "Yeah," he says, and he can feel the warmth in his voice, "It's just been a bit of a rough patch."

The rift is more active for the next several days; they're kept busy handling everything coming through. Finally, when things settle down and it looks like it will be quiet for a bit, Jack sends the others home. "And don't come back until morning unless it's the end of the world!" he calls after them.

Once they're all gone, he pulls out the whiskey bottle and tries to decide what he wants to do. He wants to rage, break anything he can get his hands on, create a huge mess and shoot himself in the middle of it. He won't though; all it will do is give him that huge mess to clean up and force him to retcon any of the team that makes it in before he comes back to life.

He wants to get thoroughly drunk; go through every bar in Cardiff, maybe even South Wales, and drink enough to forget everything. He won't do that either; the single drink he's currently nursing will be all he has.

He wants to go on the pull; find a couple of attractive, flexible people and lose himself in sex. He might do that; it's the one coping mechanism he has left that isn't impossibly dangerous. But he'll wait until he's calm enough to remember all the things he can't say. Retconning lovers, even one-night stands, still feels wrong, and he _needs_ to talk too much to be careful.

In the end, he heads up to the roof and watches the city. Wondering at how a city, a world, a time so different from his own could have taken over his heart the way Cardiff has. When the sun comes up, he feels calmer. Still too old, too tired, too alone, but calm enough that he thinks he can do what he has to do.

By the time the others make it in, Jack's sitting at his desk, making his way through the unending pile of paperwork. As he signs his name with a dead man's name, he wonders how he's different from Blon Fel Fotch and her dead woman's skin.

fin


End file.
